


Diaries from Azkaban

by slash_fic_ash



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-22
Updated: 2018-09-22
Packaged: 2019-07-15 15:38:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16066157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slash_fic_ash/pseuds/slash_fic_ash
Summary: From their first kiss to their last goodbye, this story details the secret crush Sirius always harbored for James. We read about the times they would "practice" hooking up to prepare for getting girlfriends as well as a threeway they had with Lily - all told through Sirius' diary entries from his cell in Azkaban.





	Diaries from Azkaban

### 24 January 1982

### The first time James and I kissed was the summer after our fifth year, the summer his parents took me in. We had just gotten our O.W.L. reports back and were splitting a bottle of firewhiskey to celebrate. Neither of us cared much about how many O.W.L.s we got, but it was a fine excuse to drink nonetheless. His parents never partook but kept a reserve in the pantry for guests, which we helped ourselves to on special occasions.  
  
It was getting late and the bottle was nearly gone and I remember feeling extremely grateful for James. For letting me live in his home. For being there every time I needed to rant about my family. And I don’t know what made me do it. But we were sitting in his room, on the floor, he had his hair all messed up in that dumb way, and I just wanted to kiss him. So I leaned in and did it.  
  
He sort of pulled back and looked at me funny. Said something like, “I think that’s enough firewhiskey for you,” and we both laughed. Slept it off, didn’t talk about it the next day.  
  
The closest we ever got to talking about it was one night early on in our sixth year. The four of us were in our usual spot in the Gryffindor common room, James in his favorite chair in front of the fire, Remus and I on either side, and Peter on the floor. James was lamenting why Lily wouldn’t go out with him, of course, and then he brought up Marlene McKinnon.  
  
Marlene was a Ravenclaw in our year – one who, James said, fancied me. “It’s true,” Remus chimed in, not looking up from the homework he was fixing (ours, of course). “I’ve seen her staring at you.”  
  
James said I should ask her out. Maybe to the next Hogsmeade trip. “I’m sure she would let you kiss her,” he said. And he had a twinkle in his eye when he said it that let me know he hadn’t forgotten about the night we got our O.W.L.s.  
  
I think I must have looked away or otherwise played it off. I didn’t want to kiss Sarah. I wanted to kiss James again, but I didn’t know why. I remember being unable to sleep that night. He’s my best friend, I thought. Can’t that be enough?  
  
I’ve got to stop, can sense them coming. More tomorrow.  
  
  
  


### 25 January 1982,

### It was a lucky stroke that whoever visited Dolohov yesterday dropped this parchment on their way out. Writing feels good. It gives me something to focus on. It makes me feel like I can almost keep my head on in this place. But back to the important stuff. Back to James…  
  
Things changed again the winter of our sixth year. Every other Gryffindor boy went home for the holidays except for the two of us. James was having a row with his parents and he thought he would be a rebellious little stink and have Christmas at Hogwarts. Remus and Peter were at their parents’ and I, of course, was doing whatever James was doing. Which, in this case, meant bewitching snowballs to attack Slughorn.  
  
But that got old after awhile, so we built entire armies out of snow and charmed them into life. We commanded them to do battle, making up the rules of war as we went. Running around, frantically building more snowmen, forcing them to attack each other. I cheated and had my snowmen go for James. He cheated and had his snowmen build more snowmen. Flitwick poked his head out of his office window to compliment our charm work. God, I even miss Flitwick. I never thought I would write that sentence. But then, I never thought I would be in this cell.  
  
After a few hours the charms wore off, so we reverted to wrestling in the snow. With a particularly clever maneuver, he pinned me. We were both completely out of breath. He was straddling my torso and had my hands restrained above my head, his face inches from mine. Normally, once his victory sunk in he’d get up and we’d have another go. But this time he stayed, staring at me with half a triumphant grin. What was he waiting for? I thought, for a moment, we were going to have a repeat of the night in his bedroom. Then, like I was imagining the whole thing, he got up.  
  
“Come on,” he said, leading the way back to the castle.  
  
We were sopping wet and freezing by the time we were back in the dormitory. James immediately stripped down to his underwear and used a drying spell on his wet robes. I did the same. Then he said something like, “You know what? These are wet, too,” and took off his underwear.  
  
I’d seen him naked before, of course. Never took him long to drop his towel on his way from the shower to his dresser. And I suppose he had something to be proud of, but it struck me as a bit obnoxious. Remus always laid out his clothes for the day and only dropped his towel the moment before he was ready to dress. Peter was terrified of anyone seeing him naked, so he would take all his clothes with him into the bathroom and come out fully dressed.  
  
But now, drying our robes, I kept sneaking peeks. It had changed a bit since I last time I saw it. Now he had even more to be proud of.  
  
“What are you looking at?”  
  
He didn’t say it angrily, more curious. But I was terrified nonetheless at being caught.  
  
“Nothing,” I said. And I thought myself stupid for looking.  
  
Later that night, as we were falling asleep, he was chattier than usual. Asking me about all sorts of things, can’t remember exactly what. Quidditch, probably, and teachers, classmates. Then he asked if I thought it was funny that neither of us had had a girlfriend yet. Or even been with a girl. I made some joke about us being too busy taking over the school. Then he asked why I looked at him earlier, when he was changing.  
  
This caught me off guard. I probably would have been horrified if he had said it with any kind of disgust or malice, but he said it the way you might ask, “What’s the new portrait password?” I said the first thing I could think of, which was, “Just comparing, I guess.”  
  
He chuckled. “Like old times.”  
  
It’s true, we used to compare in second and third year, when things first started changing. I remember that he grew armpit hair before me, and I had been jealous. But that felt like ages ago. Now we were almost of age, and that sort of thing seemed like something we’d left behind in our childhood. Yet here I was, bringing it up again – lying, though. Because I hadn’t really looked to compare. If I was perfectly honest with myself, the word I would have used was less like “curious” and a little closer to something like “desire.”  
  
Then James’ voice dropped quieter, even though we were the only two the in the dormitory. “I overheard Dorcas Meadowes telling her friends that she had been with Frank Longbottom, and that he wasn’t very good. I guess it was his first time. And she said, ‘When you’ve never practiced with anyone, you’re bound to be bad.’” He paused. He words seemed to be building towards something but I couldn’t tell what, like watching him add ingredients to an empty cauldron without knowing what potion would congeal.  
  
Then, a clue: “Would be pretty embarrassing.”  
  
He didn’t want this happening to him. Neither did I, although evidently he worried about it more than I did.  
  
“Yeah,” I said.  
  
“I think I could use some practice.” His voice carried an attempt at lightness, but it seemed manufactured.  
  
“Me, too.” Whatever this was building towards, I wanted to help it along. My breath came in quiet, ragged gasps.  
  
“And I suppose…If you’re gonna practice with anyone… I just mean, you could do worse than your best mate.”  
  
My heart pounded in my chest. Was he saying what I think he was? Through the gap in my bed curtains, I could see that he was sitting up, fully awake, and looking at me. He had a funny sort of smile, like if I were to burst out laughing right now, he would laugh too and be fine admitting that the whole thing was a joke, nothing more than a gag. But if I didn’t laugh, if instead went to him...  
  
Gathering all my courage, I got up out of my bed and stumbled over to his. Sat down on the edge of it. He asked if I wanted to. I nodded, afraid to keep going, afraid to stop. He put his hand on my back and I, grateful that he had gotten the first contact out of the way, rested my head on his shoulder. We chuckled a little and admitted that this whole thing was pretty funny. But we didn’t stop. Looking into his eyes, I remember thinking that he had never looked at me that way before, like he had only now become aware of how much sense this made, and how silly we were for waiting so long.  
  
He was the one to lean in and finally start things off. His lips were rough, a bit dry. We laughed again in the middle of the kiss but kept going. After he tried something with his tongue on mine, he asked, “Is that good?”  
  
“I – I think so.”  
  
I felt like I’d just landed and stepped off a broomstick after hours of flying. He made me feel grounded. He made me feel safe. But at the same time, even as it was happening, I feared what he would think of it in the morning light. Would he regret it? Laugh it off?  
  
He laid me down and got on top of me, like he had earlier when we were wrestling. But this time he was gentler, framing my face with his finger. Soft kisses on my cheek and lips, which set my skin on fire. “How’s this?” he asked.  
  
“Yeah. Good.”  
  
“I’m pretending you’re a girl.”  
  
“Uh huh.”  
  
He was already naked, I realized, and must have gone to bed that way. I felt him poking me down below, and I realized that this might go further than even I had imagined. He would probably leave it up to me. Did I want to take this to a place we couldn’t come back from? I have to admit, with his warm figure on top of me and our kisses getting deeper, the thought of stopping was nowhere in my mind. So I wiggled out of my underwear and threw it onto the floor. He slowly started shifting us into a certain position, checking with me at every step of the way, how someone might carefully approach a Hippogriff to make sure it was safe, and I let him. Let him lift my leg, practice going slow, practice relaxing, practice, practice. When it finally happened, I inhaled sharply and he paused, but I pulled him closer. We were trembling, but I needed him closer. Our breaths came in uneven bursts, we were the only two in the entire castle. I thought, This is what it’s like to love a man and have him love you back, in whatever way he can, this is our friendship soaring to a different realm, a different plane, one of mystery and tenderness and salty skin, this is like being sorted, this is something magic can’t touch, this is the answer to a question I had been carrying unknowingly since the first time I saw him on the train to school, a question that even now was more feeling than words.  
  
Afterwards, I fell asleep next to him. So warm was his body under mine, I couldn’t fathom ever being cold again. Sometime during the night, he got up and didn’t return.  
  
When the morning came, I saw that he was asleep in my bed. I watched his breath rise and fall, wondering if we would pay for the night before.  
  
He opened his eyes and said, “Sorry, I felt too cramped sleeping next to someone.”  
  
“That’s the real thing you need to practice.”  
  
We both laughed. I waited for the other boot to drop.  
  
“So what do you think?” he asked. “Do I have the hang of it?”  
  
He had that dumb look on his face that told me he took this no more seriously than a History of Magic exam. It was both a relief and a blow. Whatever meaning I’d taken from the night before was, it seemed, only mine to take.  
  
“Not at all,” I said, smirking. “You were a bit boring, to be frank. Not a lot of variation.”  
  
“Oh, come on.” He threw my own pillow at me.  
  
“And rather fast, too.”  
  
At this, James leapt onto his bed, onto me, and we wrestled until breakfast. I knew things would be okay. Different, of course, but not ruined, not shameful, not irretrievable.  
  
And we did practice a few more times. To his credit, James began to take his time and not rush through the whole thing. We probably would have kept on until the end of break, but Remus came back early, saying something about getting a head start on the new term.  
  
We each got girlfriends after that. Didn’t have reason to practice anymore. I still wanted to, but I never told him that.  
  
  
  


### 7 February 1982,

### I couldn’t write again until now. My last entry must have filled me with so much emotion that the amount of dementors outside my door doubled for a week straight, until it was all sapped again. I’ve only now recovered from it.  
  
This goddamn place. I keep going over the worst stuff in my head, how it all ended, but I’m trying. To focus on James, and my innocence, and the good. It’s the only way I’m gonna stay alive in here.  
  
More soon, I hope.  
  
  
  


### 8 February 1982,

### Today I think I only have the strength to write about one particular memory.  
  
It was in our seventh year, James and Lily had been dating a few months, and she started hanging out in our dormitory constantly. We quickly learned that, though boys were not allowed in the girls’ dorm (and James had the bruises to prove it), Lily could come up to ours all she wanted. Which, in truth, I loved.  
  
On this night, I was laying next to James on his bed, with Lily on his other side. The girl I’d been seeing had broken up with me that day, and Remus had charmed his trunk into singing. An earnest but misguided attempt to cheer me up.  
  
“A cauldron full of hot, strong looooove,” it sang, in a low, smoky voice.  
  
“She doesn’t come to all my games,” James said. “Sometimes she prefers to study.”  
  
“One of us is going to have to make an actual living after school,” Lily said.  
  
Neither of them sounded angry – they often put on a show of bickering. It was all a bit of a laugh.  
  
“Quidditch stars are swimming in Galleons. Right, Moony?”  
  
“Don’t bring me into this,” Remus said.  
  
“Beat those Bludgers back, boys,” sang the trunk, “and chuck that Quaffle here.”  
  
Lily sat up and looked at me. “What do you think?”  
  
“They do make money,” I said, “but Lily would become breadwinner when James takes one too many Bludgers to the head and retires early.”  
  
I thought James might shove me, or make fun of my Quidditch skills. But instead he laughed and held my hand, something he’d never done in front of anyone else. I was secretly touched. After all, why couldn’t two friends hold hands, even if they were blokes?  
  
Seeing this, and not to be outdone, Lily got up to sit on the opposite side of me and entwined her fingers in my other hand. The three of us smiled at this string of connection. I lifted up both of my hands and kissed each of theirs in turn.  
  
Remus lowered his wand with a bit of a dazed look on his face. “How long has this been going on?” he shouted in mock-exasperation.  
  
“You stole my cauldron but you can’t have my heart!” the trunk crooned.  
  
“Shut up!” Remus shouted, waving his wand, and the trunk snapped closed.  
  
James and Lily and I just laughed and laughed. And that memory, with the three of us on his bed, holding hands, is one I’ve returned to many times over the last few months. It was a nearly perfect moment. It was like the love between Lily and James was wide enough to encompass me, or my friendship, or our friendship. It was like being taken in by James’ family all over again, an announcement that I belonged, an affirmation so true and pure. Even if it was just them trying to cheer me up, I savored it like the end of term feast. And if those floating ghouls succeed in taking it from me, now I have a written record – to read, and remember, and cherish.  
  
Full moon tonight. I wonder where Remus is now…  
  
  
  


### 14 February 1982,

### A bit better today. I’ve been thinking more about Lily and James’ wedding, what a perfect night that was, and it’s giving me a bit of strength. Not just because I was the best man, but because of what happened later that evening.  
  
It was a small ceremony that didn’t try to draw too much attention to itself. There had been a string of disappearances the month prior, coloring the experience somewhat. But you wouldn’t know it from looking at the couple. Judging by how wide a smile Lily wore as she walked back down the aisle arm-in-arm with James, you’d have thought there wasn’t a war outside at all.  
  
The reception ended but people lingered, not wanting to return to their realities at home. The wedding was an oasis. But soon it was clear that the evening was winding down and people filtered out one by one. I was the last the leave.  
  
“Want to have a drink at our place?” Lily asked me.  
  
“I’m sure you want tonight to be just the two of you.”  
  
“Don’t be silly,” James said, throwing his arm around me. “Come and have a drink.”  
  
It had been such a fantastic evening, I was in no rush for it to end.  
  
Back in Godric’s Hollow, we polished off a bottle of Dragon Barrel Brandy. I had already had a fair bit of Elderflower wine at the wedding, so was thoroughly pissed by this point. James put on that same goddamn Warbeck album and pulled Lily up to dance. They swayed and snickered and stumbled into furniture, utterly in love. Lily tried to get me to join but I sank deeper into the couch. “Come on, come on,” she said. It took both her and James to get me on my feet and moving to the music.  
  
After a song or two I started to feel looser and more relaxed. Lily pulled us into a traditional couples posture, giggling as she placed my hand on her waist and her hand on my shoulder. “Thanks for being our best man,” she said. I told her what a special day it had been. She smiled and kissed me on the cheek.  
  
James came up behind me and mimicked my pose, grabbing our hands so the three of us swayed as one, rocking our hips side to side. Now the brandy was really hitting me. From over my shoulder, James and Lily kissed. We stopped dancing and all put our arms around each other, touching our heads in the middle. More laughs, more giggles. My head was swimming.  
  
“Do you think my wife is beautiful?” James asked. I could tell how much he enjoyed finally getting to call her his wife.  
  
“’Course I do,” I said.  
  
“Do you want to kiss her?” His voice was barely above a whisper.  
  
The question was a stunning spell to my chest. Though I had always found her attractive, James’ feelings for her went back years, so I’d always considered her mentally out of bounds. Loads of people found her beautiful. Yet even as my lips formed the “no,” I sensed that both of them desired a different answer.  
  
“It’s okay,” Lily encouraged.  
  
Then, as more of her choice than mine, Lily leaned in and kissed me. I closed my eyes and instinctively put my hand back on her hip. She was wearing the perfume I helped James pick out for her last birthday. I felt him behind me still, putting his hands on both Lily and me. When the kiss ended, she turned and kissed James. We were all still so close. Then, as their lips parted, she turned to me and said, “Now you two.”  
  
James broke out in a goofy grin and said, “For old time’s sake.”  
  
Kissing him again brought me right back to the boy’s dormitory, his four-poster bed, those nights we “practiced.” I had no idea if James had told Lily about those nights, but something told me she wouldn’t have been bothered. The kiss felt effortless, as simple as a first-year spell. I was hardly aware that someone was taking off my robe, my shirt. There was the warmness of skin-on-skin and the prickle of chest hair on mine. It took me a moment to realize Lily was the culprit, that she was circling James and I and taking off our clothes. When she got to my belt, I pulled away from the kiss with James and said, “Are we sure about this?”  
  
Lily flicked her wand and the lights dimmed. James let his pants fall to the floor. I guess I had my answer.  
  
Things were easy once we were all under the covers of their bed. It was the feeling of Felix Felicis, like every lip or hand was placed exactly where it was supposed to be. I don’t have perfect recollection – far too much drink had been consumed for that – but certain images have lingered in my mind over the years: James and I standing on our knees, embracing, everything touching from our chests to our stomachs to below, as Lily kissed each of our necks in turn; laying on my back as both James and Lily focused on a different part of me, and I couldn’t believe the sensation; the time when it was just James and Lily and I looked on, leaning back on my elbows and finding deep contentment in their love for each other.  
  
Afterwards, as we laid in a tangled mass on sweaty sheets, Lily picked up her wand and made floating strings of light take the shape of animals. First, she did a stag, of course. Then my dog, then her own doe. They ran around the air chasing each other, bringing light to the portrait of Fleamont and Euphemia on the wall, to a stack of quills on the dresser, to James’ bare thigh poking out of the covers. It was a warm afterglow. I was content to drift off to sleep under the nightlight of her creation.  
  
It never happened again, with the three of us. We’d talk about it sometimes, but as the war intensified and we all joined the Order, there was too much else going on. By the time Lily got pregnant, our jaunt on their wedding night was something we’d bring up with a laugh and a smile, but never again relive.  
  
  
  


### 16 February 1982,

### I heard Dolohov shouting in his sleep last night. His wretched voice echoed through the cells and kept me awake for hours. Not that I’ve been sleeping much. The last few nights I’ve had nightmares about the day Lily and James went into deeper hiding, horrible images jolting me awake, infecting me with cold dread. And I can’t get rid of them– in this place, they linger like the cold in your bones.  
  
So I need to write what really happened, not the skewed version in my dreams. I need to remember how James had pounded on the door to my flat, storming in with Lily and Harry in tow. How when his words came, they were breathless and quick in a way that scared me.  
  
“We need to go away for awhile,” James said.  
  
I barely had time to register who was at the door, much less what they said. James continued without pause.  
  
“Albus says that we’re being targeted – that Harry is being targeted – for god knows what reason, and we need to add more protection.” They had been in hiding since Lily was pregnant, but now, a week before Halloween, something was different. I had never seen James this way – his face was flushed and he wouldn’t stop pacing. Harry cried in Lily’s arms.  
  
The news that my best friend was a target struck me between the ribs. It was inconceivable that anything should happen to him.  
  
“What sort of protection?” I asked.  
  
“The Fidelius Charm.”  
  
I knew before they continued why they had come.  
  
“Albus offered,” Lily said, “but we think it should be you. We told him that you would rather die than betray us.”  
  
“Obviously,” I said with a smile, but neither of them returned it. Harry cried louder. “Does anyone else know?”  
  
“Remus,” James said, “a handful of others.”  
  
It was around this time that Remus went on extended undercover missions with the werewolves, and he came back a little different each time. In hindsight I think it was probably the stress of the missions affecting him, but back then it planted a seed of doubt in my mind. He had failed to get information the Order needed for a few missions in a row, and we knew that someone had been passing information to Voldemort for over a year.  
  
“We’ll do it tonight,” James said. “Come to the cottage at eight.”  
  
I spent the whole afternoon obsessing over it and worked myself into a panic. If Remus was the spy, then he knew that I was Secret Keeper. It would be smarter to switch to someone else last minute, so that fewer people would know the truth. By the time I got to Godric’s Hollow that night, I’d convinced myself that my plan was best.  
  
“Make it Peter,” I told them. They brushed off the idea, but I pressed it. “No one will expect it, it’s perfect. Don’t you see? If Voldemort gets a hold of me, he can torture me all he wants but I won’t be able to tell him.”  
  
James turned to Lily. “What do you think?”  
  
She shifted Harry from one arm to the other. “I don’t know.”  
  
“It’ll be a bluff,” I said. “Think about my family. They’re going to go after me first, and I may very well be found and tortured. In fact, I hope I am if it deflects attention from the real Secret Keeper.”  
  
They needed a fair bit of persuading, but in the end they agreed. We brought Peter over right away.  
  
There was a funny glint in his eye once we explained what we wanted him to do. At the time I thought it was fear – the responsibility of being a Secret Keeper is enormous. Now I know it was glee. The filthy traitor was being handed a treasure for his master.  
  
When all was ready to perform the spell, we said our temporary farewells. Lily hugged me longer than I’ve ever been hugged, and James kissed me hard on the lips. “I’ll see you soon,” he said.  
  
I didn’t know it then, but it would be the last time I ever touched James.  
  
Lily did the charm herself from inside the cottage. I waited outside so it would be effective, my back to the house. Minutes later when I turned around, it was gone. They were gone.  
  
I know I need to write what happens next, but I’m so scared, I don’t think I can do it. I have to, though, because I’m afraid I’ll go mad in here, and then no one will know the truth. But if I can write it out, maybe one day someone will find this and understand.  
  
  
  


### 7 March, 1982,

### Whenever I think about writing the events of that night my chest seizes up and I can’t breathe. But it’s all I think about. It’s all I see when I close my eyes.  
  
I woke on the 31st of October with a dark feeling like something unsettled was in the air. For most of the day I was able to ignore it, but around twilight it hit me deep in the gut and before I knew it I was at Peter’s hiding place. And I saw something was wrong the moment I arrived because he was gone and most of his important things were gone but there was no sign of a struggle, no flipped chairs or tables, no broken dishes, no clothes strewn on the floor in a mad dash to leave. It had abandoned in an organized way and my heart sank, terrified, absolutely terrified. So I went to Godric’s Hollow.  
  
And on the way I thought there had to be some normal explanation as to why Peter wasn’t there, that he would never betray them. But even as I thought it, the pieces fell into place and I knew, I knew I had been a fool to trust him, someone who always followed in the footsteps of those greater, who wanted power because he had none. And by the time I got there I was trembling, and then I saw it, the top right of the house completely blown apart, gone, missing, and I thought there’s still time, maybe they escaped, maybe I’ll go inside and it’ll be empty and then I’ll get a message from someone in the Order saying they’re safe, James and Lily are with me and they’re okay but it was a close call, and isn’t it lucky that they made it out in time? But when I ran into the house and up the stairs, wand out, afraid, not knowing if He was still there, it was then I saw him, my best friend, half buried in rubble, torn up from the pieces of roof and wall that had landed on him, eyes still open, hair messed up the way he always liked it, glasses broken but that would take a simple spell to mend, not to worry, and what if I brought him to St. Mungo’s? and even as I pulled his body up and held it in my arms, cold and stiff already, I knew, deep down, in the place where I held all my memories of James, of Quidditch and kisses and classes and jokes and “practicing” and secrets and joy and everything, that it was no use to take him to hospital, that the sounds of the wind and a child crying would be the only things I ever heard again. I thought I saw your eyelids flickering. Were you just dreaming? Would you come out of this and say Hell, that was some stunner, and hug me and kiss me on the spot between my cheek and lips? Remember when I found you crying in our second year and you asked me not to tell anyone, and I never did? Did you hear me crying now? I wanted my voice to blow out, but yelling hurt too much and I stopped. Pieces of wallpaper. Bits of crib. I wanted to take a potion of endless, dreamless sleep, to live in a world where you were just behind the curtains of your four-poster bed across from mine, waiting to share the answers to a quiz you’d stolen from Flitwick’s desk, charmed it right into your bag, rushed right up to the dorm. I couldn’t look at Lily. I knew from my periphery that she was the same. Pieces of wallpaper. Bits of crib. I heard Harry crying but couldn’t move. James would stay in my arms until someone came to take me away, until someone came to finish the job, until someone told me that none of this was real but a terrible piece of magic meant to trick and deceive. On top of Harry’s cries I heard someone else crying, someone who sounded like an animal tortured, and then realized it was me. James, I’m remembering you on the Quidditch pitch, scoring a goal and doing a victory lap, blowing kissing at Lily in the stands, being obnoxious and loveable and ideal. I’m remembering you pulling your cloak out of your trunk and knowing we were in for an adventure. James I am so sorry that I made you switch last minute, I will live with this forever, I am rotting with this, I am all to blame, I thought it was right, I believed it to be right, I tried, I tried, I tried, and you are here, amidst pieces of wallpaper and bits of crib, the light behind your eyes gone gone gone, and then big arms are pulling me off of you, someone’s voice, Hagrid’s voice awful and high-pitched, sniffling, choking on his sobs, pulling me up, taking Harry from the crib, and I say that should take him, I’m the guardian, but no, he says, Dumbledore’s orders, and I remember that even Dumbledore didn’t know that we had switched, and that there was only one way in the world to even get close to justice, which was to go to Peter and blow him apart just like the side of this house. Take my bike, I won’t need it, fly to Petunia, fine. I have no memory of how I found him, only that minutes later, hours, days, who knows, I was standing in front of the rat, the awful betraying scum, and I shouted his name, loud enough for the whole street to hear, and he turned to me with a look of terror unparalleled, because he knew, he knew upon seeing the dark in my eyes what I would do to him, and before I could raise my wand he shouted that I had betrayed the Potters, and I opened my mouth to rebuke when everything went bright and awful and I was on my back, more screaming, more death, bricks on my chest, dust and rubble and smoke. And when I got up I saw that Peter was gone. And it clicked. He was a better wizard than any of us had even known, capable of effortlessly leaving death and destruction in his wake, it was all too much, it was everything at once, it was devoid of humor and I laughed, which was the only sound my body knew how to make at that moment, like trying to think of the name of a spell and only the wrong one is in your head, and you say it anyway, even though you know it isn’t right. And they’re taking me off, and there’s nothing left to fight for, so I stop fighting, and the cell, and the sentencing, and Barty, the bits of crib, and Harry crying, and big hands pulling me off of James, my love, the truest man, the best man I’ll ever know, and Harry if you ever read this, please please please know that I am your godfather and I love you and I didn’t do what they say I did, and I tried with your parents I did, I just made a mistake, and I loved your father more than I’ve ever loved anyone, you have to know that, please, please. I loved James like a brother, a lover, a friend, everything, he was the truest man, the best person I’ll ever know, and without him there is just this cell and darkness and Dolohov screaming in his sleep, and on the blackest nights, sometimes I’m able to still hear his voice, that warm and whispering voice saying “for old time’s sake,” and I fall into his arms again.

  
  
  
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